Thank god for editing.

I have lots of journals.

At least 7 or 8. None of them are full, but all of them are written in. This presents a two-fold dilemma: 1. no re-gifting. At this point, I should receive a government stipend for all the birthday, baby shower, and thank-you gifts that have required me to spend my hard-earned bartending money over the past few years. I mean, I don't understand why I can't just offer free drinks and lovely company in place of gifts. And I don't want to hear about the inappropriate nature of mixing breast feeding and Cable Car shots.

Dilemma 2: Hmmm... I don't remember, but I'm pretty sure it had to do with my inability to complete any project that isn't educationally or professionally required of me.

Having said that, it would probably behoove you to know that it usually takes me an additional 100 or so words to say what any (relatively) normal person might be able to say in 25. For instance, I could've just said, "I'm an overly verbose person with an inability to form concise sentences or follow through with simple tasks that aren't required of me." I mean, that was only 23 words (contractions not included).

Anyway, all of this is to say that, like cigarettes and tidiness, journaling/blogging is not woven into the fabric of my being. Don't get me wrong - I love writing, but not anything that people will actually READ (that would be preposterous).

So this blog is my little experiment. How long can I stick with this? How tightly can I embrace this absurdly uncomfortable display of myself? How many... er, times... can I... um... hmm. Where was I going with this? Bygones. Moving on.

It has taken me one hour to write three paragraphs. I'm awesome.

First blog posting? Check. Let's hope there's a round two.